Sunshine and Hay

SUNSHINE AND HAY

The light was everywhere and it made the day sparkle. It was beautiful.

Somehow, it didn’t hurt anymore. The pain had gone away. He gently pulled the curtains and looked outside: the sky was blue and everything was clear and wondrous. He decided to open a window. The air was fresh and bracing, pleasant-and yet, it didn’t hurt. Not at all. Not for the time being. He was glad that he had somehow managed to hold on.

He was happy.

There was no time to waste, or, more accurately, he didn’t know how much time there was: maybe an afternoon, maybe a week, a month, three years. There was no way to know. He had to get things done while he could.

The place was not the devastated wasteland that he might have expected: the strong hand and eye of The Kind One of which he was could not tolerate filth.

 He, however, apparently, could tolerate disarray. But not really. 

There was so much to be done. He needed to literally shake his head and free himself of the cobwebs-but that could be dangerous, self-defeating if done too soon, too close. But he felt free, unencumbered. Shake of the head and see.

Accomplished.

Everything was still clear and good.

The water from the fridge was cold. He was parched. He had to pace himself, needed to pace himself, but he couldn’t-there was no time. He drank it down, two icy-cold gallons of the elixir of life.

He rested on the floor.

There were all kinds of good things to eat in the fridge that he had let rot. It had to be tossed. This reminded him: he had to eat. There was bread and chicken. Kay had given it to him. He wasn’t sure about the safety, couldn’t remember how long it was okay, but he took his chances. There was no time to warm it. He didn’t have the strength. He realized the degree to which he had starved himself. He tore the meat from the bones and partook of the bread. More water. There were plenty of plastic bags. Windex. For the mirrors and windows. The brilliant light of the sun was everywhere and he was glad.

There was no broom. There was no mop. It hadn’t occurred to him to purchase these things. She was to have brought them. And he had forgotten.

They would have done these things together.

But there was no time to waste. There was plenty of hot water and soap. He cleansed the floors and scrubbed the kitchen. The bathroom was no joke. He scrubbed and polished. From top to bottom. Nothing was missed.

He was so glad to be back.

 He hated it there.

He hated Sad Land.

A shave. A shower. He was afraid and bold: he had no idea of how much time he had. He hadn’t been here for such a long time, in this beautiful place, this wondrously beautiful place of joy and wonder which he did not deserve to see.

 Happy Land.

 The place of Happiness. And cruelty. His own hands were bloody. There were plenty of excuses. He could contrive many. Excuses don’t make the truth go away.

 As he scrubbed this and that he no longer hoped that the blood on his hands would go away. It never would. He vainly hoped that the little ones would not know sadness and sorrow, that they would be kind to each other.  

 And this, this wish, in and of itself, was vain.

But at least, in Happy Land, no one seemed to be alone. No one was alone, and everyone was glad. They were together and had joy. Despite the sin of envy, he envied them.

He was glad for them. Joy did exist. It was everywhere.

He had seen it.

 He wiped the sweat from his brow and found his keys. There was rubbish to be taken out. He braced himself. There would be pure and unadulterated light.

It had to be done:

 He had just returned from a terrible place where light was not kind.

Light exists in Sad Land.

 But there, memory and pain ride the waves. And there is always light and light cannot be escaped. Even in sleep. There, light makes visible three- dimensional images of Joy that cannot be touched or give or receive love. Cruel illusions. They do not exist outside of that place, outside of that terrible world. These images, in all of their beauty, in all of their seeming proximity, cry out to be loved and touched. They seem so real, so close.

 But there is no Joy in Sad Land, and the light is to be avoided like the Plague.

The Smart One was coming to give him money so he could eat. While awaiting Him he regarded the trees across the street. He let their beauty wash over him. In Happy Land, the trees whisper and sing; they absorb and reflect The Light.

They are emerald and gold. He watched as they transmuted light and gave life, as they stretched forth to the beautiful blue, as they sought and joyously accepted the love of their Creator.

He understood them.

There are no trees in Sad Land. Everything stretches forth into a barren nothing.

 The beautiful, kind, silent witnesses adored him, gave him joy as he waited for The Smart One.

The Smart One and His Bride did arrive, and there would be food. The Smart One was angry with him because he hadn’t remembered the time-it was his fault, and he was sorry, and he tried not to anger Him further as they drove to the store.

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The Kind One saw the Smart One walking down the street on a bright, sunshiny, joyously golden day. The best day of her life. He was headed to church. She whispered to her cousin that this was her man. As told, the nine-year-old had vision. She was focused.

This beautiful, tall, strong brown boy did not even glance at her. But that did not matter-she was beautiful and everyone knew it. He would know it too-when he looked at her. He didn’t have a chance. 

Money was tight.

He had walked away from The Bank that was going to implode because they had wanted him to do terrible things.

“I notice that people love you. You have a wonderful rapport with them.” The Regional smiled and thumbed through documents.

 “These numbers are not atrocious, but we have to make them better. This account, why did you open it? You went against policy-as you may-but these things are done for profit. Get on the phone and tell them that they need insurance and an investment plan. Or you’ll have to close their account. They’ll do it. They trust you...”

That was the exact wrong thing to have been heard.

“They don’t have the money. They can’t afford it. She’s got a plan with the LAUSD. She’s a teacher.”

There was a special place in his heart for Teachers.

These people were poor and had a less than perfect record because they had trusted someone with beautiful words. Someone who had taken their money and ruined their reputation.

The Regional pushed the papers to the side and said that this would be done.

The Kind One was in the process of going away. There was no way that he could betray Her now.

 He choked down the vomit and thanked The Regional for his time. He had no choice. He did not clear out his desk. He did not pass go. He did not look back.

He would rather starve.

And he would.

There are many, many ways to hurt people, to put them in pain, and he had decided long ago that his days of hurting and killing his fellow human beings were over.

Starvation is better than hurting the weak, the Unfortunate.

The Kind One had been right about that.

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The scrubbing was done.

There was very little time.

An Angel was coming to speak with him, to be with him.

They have the Magic and the power to change Sadness into Happiness.

With a touch, with a smile, their warmth, with their voices, they thrill and make Joy clear.

They like cleanliness. He had to straighten out his situation.

It looked good.

There was so much work to be done, so many things to do that he had to get done. He saw the silver lining of the cloud, grasped the other side of the double-edged sword and was glad. The Light cascaded around him and washed him clean.

He is infinitely merciful-but Chad had serious concerns about His mercy as it concerned the things he had done.

He didn’t deserve Mercy.

The Teacher had warned him.

Maybe, perhaps, if he were to try, try his best, He would forgive him.

And he would no longer live in The Lake of Fire.

And he might be glad.

And he would never see Sad Land again.